The Bottomless Well of Sentiment
by Vega's Ring
Summary: Molly Hooper's limitless well of patience, love and understanding is tested. Here's another take on the aftermath of the I Love You scene. Because we ran out of scene time to show any resolution between these two. But hey, we know it's resolved! Sherlolly Post TFP
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1. I.C.E.**

There's an insistent buzzing in her head and Molly thinks for a split second that she's having a hangover. She's sprawled practically naked on her bed save for a towel around her waist. It's only then she remembers what had happened a couple (several?) of hours ago.

The Call. The heady delusional joy of love returned and the swift descent into reality. She dared him to say it after all. And he did. Of course he did. Because he was always a sucker for those kinds of games that will bring him to the edge if it brings the other down for the fall.

And fall she did.

Stupid.

When the line went dead and her brain started functioning, she had to pull herself out of an oncoming black hole by going out for a hard run. She came home, showered, and fully intended to get knackered at the local pub. But the emotional and physical toll of the day took her out before she could even reach her closet. She wasn't 25 anymore.

Her phone stops vibrating and goes to voicemail. Upon seeing that she had two missed calls from Rosie's sitter, John's next door neighbor, she quickly returns it.

"Hi Ellen, I'm sorry I couldn't get to the phone," she says.

"Listen, sorry to bother you but John isn't picking up his phone. It's past nine. He should have been here to get her by six. Ordinarily I'd keep her overnight but I can't tonight. Can you take over?"

"Of course. I'll be there." She's always there.

It seems like she's everyone's emergency contact person nowadays. But who was hers?

* * *

 _Thanks for starting this! I'll be posting often as this isn't a long fic. Maybe 4 chapters. 6 with prologue and epilogue. Comments are appreciated but not required. I am finally doing my New Year's Resolution to write more._


	2. Chapter 2: The Call

**Chapter 2: The Talk**

She settles sweet sleeping Rosie in her crib after half an hour of hysterical crying. Poor baby. Molly thought she had it rough today but it looks like this child isn't having it any better. She just got woken up in the middle of sleep for a late night pick up. A new tooth was budding. And now her father was out somewhere after apparently spending the day before getting blown up. She is worried sick about them and hopes Moriarty's men (it could only be them, despite the official "it's a gas leak" pronouncement) get dealt with soon. She calls Greg to ask if he's heard from them. It's now past 10 but he doesn't answer. She tried John again but it goes straight to voicemail.

"Hi John," she says as she takes a breath to smile and steady herself. A call at 10 at night to a single father is never good so she makes sure she comes off as untroubled as possible.

"I just want you to know that I'm here at your place. Rosie is finally asleep. She had a rough night but I think it's her tooth. Anyway," she pauses to think if she should share what she knows, "I heard about what happened to Baker Street yesterday. I hope you're …both ok."

Molly puts her phone down and plops on the glider. Sometimes she just wants to fall into a pool of self-pity. Today she had to go wedding gift shopping for Meena when she bumped into Tom and his new fiancé. It was a bit of a shock to see him, but she knew it was only a matter of time when their paths would cross. They were picking out their wedding registry. Molly and Tom never got that far. Maybe she always knew it wasn't going to happen. When Tom claimed he "needed space", she thought it was his kind way of giving her an out. He was nice like that. Tom's a good guy and he would make a great husband. She's happy for him. Really. But seeing him, and shopping for a wedding gift for her friend makes her reflect on her own relationship status. It is most definitely 'single'. Most of the time she does not think about it. She doesn't feel the need to be defined by someone. But sometimes she feels everyone else has moved on while she's stuck on second gear. (Ugh, damn The Rembrandts and Friends reruns.) Maybe not second gear. If today is going to be a snapshot of her life, she is most definitely going on reverse!

She desperately needed Mary today as a sounding board. She was wise yet fun. But she didn't even have that anymore. She got the next best thing.

She looks towards the crib and sees Rosie's belly rise and fall.

Molly silently vows to stay strong for this tiny life. And after a little prayer, she turns off her light and sleeps.

She wakes up to the sound of a kiss. John is finally back and bending over the crib to give his daughter a peck on her head. Molly turns on the reading light and gasps at the sight of John Watson. He looks wet and smells… moldy?

"Oh my God. What happened?"

He lets out a tired sigh as he runs his hand through his face. "Let's just say we had a bad day." He paused and added, "We all did."

"Are you all safe? Mrs. Hudson said that Mycroft was at Baker Street, too. Was it…. Moriarty?"

"Yes and no. But that's not my story to tell." She understands. "Listen, you're free to stay the night. It's late. But if you want, there's a car out waiting to take you home."

Molly gets up gingerly, walks towards the crib and blows a kiss at Rosie.

"If it's all the same to you, I'd like to go home." She hugs John and makes her way out into the hallway towards the entrance when she freezes. Sherlock is standing by the door looking utterly miserable. She almost feels sorry for him but stops herself. She's the aggrieved one! So she composes herself and coldly nods to Sherlock as he opens the door for her.

"Sherlock," John says gently to his friend like he doesn't want to startle him, "you have to do a sweep."

Molly looks at John. "A sweep?"

"However intolerable I am to you right now Molly, I have to escort you home," Sherlock says plainly. She doesn't understand and glances to John, then to Sherlock. John is standing his ground while Sherlock looks... scared? Defeated? Resigned? She couldn't tell. Usually she reads Sherlock like a book.

"You can do this, Sherlock," he says quietly so she couldn't hear. "My wife died so you could live. Now live it."

Sherlock just nods. Whatever happened must have been epic because Sherlock seems to be taking barking orders from John without putting up a fight. This is very un-Sherlock.

Molly moves in the car, followed by Sherlock. The short ride to her flat is silent. If her heart wasn't pounding so much she would have fallen asleep. But she is mad and humiliated. So keeping her guard up and staying angry was currently the only option.

They finally reach her building. Sherlock gets out, holds the door open for her and follows behind. But as soon as she opens her door, he stops Molly from entering. This brings a surge of anger in her.

"I'm tired Sherlock," she spits out.

But he just barges in and scans her kitchen, climbing over chairs, reaching over shelves, and then proceeds to tear through the other rooms in her house. _A sweep._ She figures that her flat is bugged and she softens at the effort. She knows she can't stay mad at him forever anyway. Whatever that phone call was, it was clearly not one of his silly games. Could it be tied to Moriarty?

As a peace offering, Molly starts putting on the kettle and prepares tea. When he's done with his sweep, he lays at least a dozen electronic bugs on a kitchen towel on the floor and stomps on them. He then drops them in the trash looking spent but relieved.

Molly hands him a cuppa as he settles on the pub seat next to her.

"Thank you." Sherlock takes the cup between his hands to warm them. His voice is hoarse from exhaustion. They have yet to make eye contact.

"So tell me," she says, pointing her chin towards his hands on the mug, "what happened?"

Sherlock takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He's breathing in the scent of rooibos and vanilla and honey. He's taking his time.

"I have a sister," he says finally.

Molly's eyes grow wide but she doesn't say anything. She's never heard him talk about a sister. Sherlock will probably never admit this to anyone but he spills a lot of personal information when they're together. She knows about his love of dogs, Mycroft's fear of gaining weight, his parents' still active sex life (TMI, btw) and even his rendezvous with The Woman in Pakistan. If this is news to her, this must be news to him as well.

He continues a macabre tale of repressed childhood memories, of his frantic search for his dog Redbeard (this she knew), except he wasn't a dog (this is new). Redbeard was his childhood best friend Victor Trevor. He tells her how Mycroft knew he had rewritten his memories, how he told their parents that she died.

"Mycroft faked her death, too?" No wonder he was so good at it.

And then he tells her about Sherrinford, the girl on the plane, Moriarty as a her Christmas gift, shooting the Governor and his wife, condemning brothers to their deaths, choosing between Mycroft and John, and finding John at the bottom of a well. The very same well that snuffed the life of his best mate Victor.

"My God." It is shock and a prayer rolled into one. It's a small miracle they made it out alive. She is horrified to know how close Rosie came to being an orphan. That's why he was wet.

Molly is still trying to piece together the events of the day when she notices his hands again. He never answered that question.

"What happened to your hands?" She asks more directly this time.

Sherlock keeps his head bowed. Then he starts visibly shaking, and she's afraid for him. His voice, when he finally speaks, is barely a whisper. She can only make out "coffin".

"Did she… did she put you in…"

An image of him being buried alive and clawing through the coffin to get out is enough to make her retch.

"For god sakes Molly, it was your coffin! She threatened to kill you if you didn't say those words. I couldn't think straight. I was going out of my mind. I just…" Sherlock's voice is hoarse, as he tries unsuccessfully to suppress violent sobs.

And then he slams his fists on the counter and slumps into his arms, burying his face. He is just too exhausted to keep it all in check. If Molly thought he was raw and emotional when he first came to her for help all those years ago, this time, this moment, he looks like a man being skinned alive. He is truly in pain. So she offers the only thing she can – herself.

Molly scoots over to him and wraps her arms protectively around him, kissing the top of his head.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry," he says over and over. How many times has she held him like this? The night he died and left. The night before his exile. And many nights, and days, since Mary's death. But this one takes the cake. She holds him, as if her small frame will keep him from shattering. She holds him until his breathing evens out.

She discreetly hands him a dishtowel and he's grateful but somewhat embarrassed by the messy display of melodrama. He knows she knows this about him and his flair for the dramatics. But this was excessive. Still, Molly is keeping this memory. It's not often that Sherlock gets embarrassed.

She smiles to ease him out of his discomfort.

"I'll be a wreck without you, Molly Hooper," he finally says.

"I don't know. I'm still here and you're not all that together," she teases.

"I mean it, Molly." He looks at her with those piercing blue eyes and she wonders if that's the same look he had when he said _I love you_ before hanging up. She wants to believe he meant every word he told her today, or at least the last 24 hours. Because of course he loves her. She knows that. Otherwise she wouldn't be hanging around him for this long if she didn't feel appreciated. But does he _love_ her? He looks quite earnest now, of course. He just saw her coffin.

So reality hits her again – thank God! Instead of narrowing the gap between their faces and snogging him silly, she pulls back, picks up their tea mugs and diffuses the moment with humor.

"I know," she says. "Who'd ever personally deliver a severed head to you?"

Sherlock snorts and looks up at her with sweet, sad eyes. Does he know the effect of this look on her? It's taking all her willpower to remain calm and composed, not hot and bothered.

Suddenly feeling the full assault of exhaustion, she yawns, and starts heading for the bedroom. She comes back out with pillows and a blanket. He'll be comfortable on the new couch, since she converted the spare room into her craft studio. While she has shared a bed with Sherlock many times in the past – in a distinctly non-romantic, non-sexual way – she needs some distance from him tonight. He understands this and is glad of it.

Molly proceeds to turn off the hall and kitchen lights as Sherlock sets the couch. She reminds him of where she keeps his toiletries and change of clothes, and coat and shoes, and his pressed suit. It's like having a boyfriend, with no benefits. She laughs at that thought. Only Molly Hooper would have one of those.

"What's funny?" he asks as he enters the bathroom.

She shakes her head. "Nothing. A private joke between me and Toby."

He looks back at her confused. But before he closes the door, Molly lets him know one more thing she's kept a secret.

"I'm glad you're alive, Sherlock Holmes. I'm glad you're here now."

She hopes he understands what she is really trying to say. Because even though she's been feeling sorry for herself, this is the one thing she does not take for granted. She still has him, in her life, however that may be.

"And thank you," she adds. He gives her an incredulous look.

"What for?"

"Thank you for saving my life."

 _Thanks for reading! I've got a prologue to this called The Ride Home in John's POV. I feel like Molly would be mad at him but then understand and would actually thank him for saving her life. I also wanted to add a nod to a piece that WritingWife83 wrote about redemption. She is devastated that her friend Mary is gone, but she is happy he is the one alive. It's her secret._


	3. Chapter 3: What It Means

**Chapter 3: What it Means**

Thankfully Molly has the late shift today so she is able to sleep in till 8 and start a leisurely morning. She picks up her phone to scroll through the news of the day when she sees a picture of the charred windows of 221B. _Who bombed Baker Street?_ It said. Soon she hears the ping of Sherlock's phone. A few moments later, another ping. And then another. He must be so tired that the text alerts don't wake him. He's usually attuned to his phone. So she picks it up to silence it. He needs his rest.

It's around 9:30 when Sherlock finally stirs from the couch. Apparently the smell and sound of bacon and bangers can make him rise from the dead.

"Good morning," she says pleasantly. "How'd you sleep?"

"Surprisingly well."

He reaches for his dressing gown and plops himself on the breakfast bar just as Molly puts down a cup of coffee followed by plates of a proper English breakfast.

"God bless you, Molly Hooper. I'm famished!"

They eat in comfortable silence as they wolf down the hearty meal. On his second cup, Molly remembers the internet rumors that his flat did not in fact have a gas leak but a bomb and the text messages that followed.

"Oh, and Mycroft is picking up you up in about 30 minutes."

"Ugh. Does he ever take a day off?" He rolls his eyes and reaches for seconds of everything.

Honestly, you'd think that after what they've been through, he would understand his brother more, she thinks.

"You've been getting pinged by everyone, I'm afraid. They must want a statement from you." She takes a sip. "That, or they're actually concerned."

As if on cue, that lascivious moan came on. They both look to see Sherlock's phone light up from where it was being charged. Apparently, The Woman's call overrides his phone commands. And she still texts him after all these years. Interesting. He tries to play it cool, but he's clearly flustered.

"Well, there you go. Someone came back from the grave to check up on you."

She knows their story. Knows that Irene Adler is supposed to be dead but isn't because of him. He told her, after all. So she gives him her best eyebrow waggle and teasing smile, one that belies the distinct stabbing pain in her chest. She swallows a mouthful of coffee, but the words that were forced out of her just yesterday are rushing back to mock her.

 _It's true._

 _It's always been true._

 _I love you._

He must sense her discomfort because he looks at her as she studiously avoids eye contact by gathering her plate and making a big show of cleaning up. She knows he wants to tell her something.

"Molly, I don't…" he says just as she opens her mouth to speak.

"Sherlock, me first." She holds up her hands to stop him. "I've practiced all morning so please let me say this."

She straightens her back and prepares for battle.

"I don't want to be a burden to you."

Sherlock starts to open his mouth to protest but she stops him again.

"I mean, I have never wanted this…*thing* to be a burden to you," she clarifies.

"I don't want you to feel like you have to be nicer to me as some sort of consolation prize. I don't want you to be meaner to me either to get me to move on. I've seen through your shit, and you know I don't put up with it. And yet, I …love you anyway. It's just a part of who I am now."

She takes a breath.

"What I'm trying to say is: Nothing has to change."

She pauses to gauge his reaction but he is unreadable so she continues.

"It's actually a relief now that I've said it. This way, you know that I know when you're manipulating me with your charms because I know for a fact that you know." She lets out a nervous giggle at the absurdity of that statement. She tries to smile but it stops short of her eyes. She's not quite done with her speech.

"I'm sorry. I truly am sorry about that thing I made you do." She's looking at her hands that are wringing the dishtowel. "It was petty, I know. God, I'm mortified that I added an extra layer of stress. I'm sorry."

She closes her eyes, and takes deep calming breaths to center herself. For a brief moment she hears him say it again, hears him say it first.

 _I..I love you._

And he says it again.

 _I love you._

"I won't lie. It was beautiful. Well done." She opens her eyes to look at him but finds his image blurry with unshed tears.

She gives him a smile, silently thanking him for not interrupting as she wipes her eyes. Then she reminds him that his brother is coming to pick him up in about 15 minutes.

"You better get ready." She turns her back to bring more plates to the sink.

But he doesn't move. He's looking at her blankly. She wonders if he was buffering the whole time she gave her speech.

"Sherlock?"

"I meant it."

"What?" She can barely hear him over the running faucet. She turns it off. She thinks he said…

"I meant it." He looks up despondently. And with panicked pale eyes, he adds, "I just don't know what it means."

Now it's her turn to buffer. Molly is…. Elated? Angry? Confused? Sympathetic? She laughs internally at her fate. With less than 15 minutes, there's no time to settle this. She just wants to scream!

"Wow. That's rather cruel." And then she thinks. She may regret being this nice but she says it anyway.

"However, I can understand where you're coming from." And she does.

He's openly abhorred any form of sentiment. But this year alone he has profoundly experienced the hopelessness of meeting death, the salvation of forgiveness, the miracle of life, and the surfacing of long buried family secrets. It's quite ridiculous to assume he'd be able to sort out romantic love from all that mess.

For her though, now there's hope. Just when she had finally come to accept her place in his life. She had just found peace. But now this. Hope, in this case, is not her friend.

She picks up his plate and tells him to take a shower. This won't be settled anytime soon and there is no point in hanging around the kitchen any longer.

Mycroft finally comes and she invites him in as Sherlock steps out of the bathroom and collects his coat. She gives the older Holmes a tight hug, and he awkwardly accepts. She wants him to know she understands him, too.

As she closes the door on the Holmes boys, she remembers something important and calls Sherlock back.

"Be nice to Mycroft. Please."

He looks confused.

"There are secrets that can bury men alive." She would know. But she only had to live it for two years.

"He isn't immortal, Sherlock. He needs you, too."

He nods in understanding and without thought, bends to give her kiss on the cheek. Then, with a swish of his coat, he's gone.

She closes the door and wonders if that's the last she'll see of him as the Sherlock Holmes she's known. Things are shifting around her, she can tell. Up until now, she was dreading the long flight to Mumbai, the crowds of a megacity, and the endless spectacle of her friend's grand wedding. They've planned, and she dreaded, this trip a long time ago, yet now she can't wait to escape to a different type of madness. Three weeks out of Bart's, out of John and Rosie's life, and away from Sherlock. Can life really change in three weeks?

* * *

 _Note: It may take a few more days before I update. I'm swamped and haven't found the time to write. But I really appreciate likes and reviews. It makes waking up at 5 a.m. to write worth it. Thank you!_


	4. Chapter 4: Reset

**Chapter 4: Reset**

It was a mistake to help out with a late shift today. What was she thinking? An earlier shift, even one that started at 5 am would have been preferable to one that ended at 7 at night. With only an hour left at work, her body was feeling the 5 and a half hour time difference.

Jet lag is never easy and she remembers now. Maybe she was feeling extra generous now that she's been buoyed by her trip, which was surprisingly magical. A little over three weeks ago, she left London in a fog and came back with a clarity of mind, body and spirit. Cliché? Yes. But that's probably what happens when you hit rock bottom. You are forced to be open to anything because it's the only way out. She was open, alright. And was better for it.

Daydreaming when one is sewing back up a corpse can be deadly so she shakes herself awake and turns up the volume of her bluetooth speaker. That's when she sees him peeking from the doors to the morgue. He's looking at her with questioning eyes as he holds up a cup of coffee.

Molly finds herself genuinely happy to see him. And not just because he's bringing salvation in a cup. He walks in and hands her a coffee with panache.

"Two shots of espresso. I thought you might need it around this time."

"Thank you. I was going to end up like one of these guys if I carried on." She takes it hungrily and chugs it down. The hot liquid is a shock to her mouth, but the sensation is welcomed.

Sherlock is watching her, amused.

"What?" There is no irritation in her voice this time around. No hint of angst. Maybe there's even a tinge of playfulness.

"Welcome back to the dead center of town, Molly Hooper." He gives her a wink and turns around to walk back. And then he stops to add, "I'll be upstairs."

Looks like she's not the only one in better spirits these days.

* * *

She meets him at the lab after taking a quick shower. She didn't realize how much of Mr. Dickens she had on her coat and hair.

Sherlock is hunched over at his favorite station, pen in hand, with a beaker, flasks and pipet next to him. It is a familiar scene, one that brings many fond memories to a time before … real tragedies happened.

"Hello Molly. Have you washed off the smell of death?" He talks to her without even lifting his head. He knows when she's around.

"Ha-ha. I'm just setting my specimens up for tomorrow, then I'm heading out. Can you close out the lab for me?"

"Actually, I'm finishing up here," he says, finally facing her. He gives her a once over. "Chips?"

She contemplates the question, but not too much. It's not a dinner date invitation as this had become routine for them at one point. She just wants to get a feel if she could stay up long enough to eat. She thinks, and then, it's settled. She gives a slow smile.

"Oh, God yes. I miss fried, bland food!"

So they end up in their usual haunt, seating in their usual spot. After three weeks of bold, spicy dishes, Molly welcomes the taste of home. It feels like home, much more so that it has in the past few months since Mary passed.

The pair seem to have hit the reset button. Just like she told him: Nothing has to change. Their conversation is easy. She's happy about that. Somehow, it's better like this - not to rock the boat, so to speak.

"You look different," he says as he takes a sip of water without breaking eye contact.

These throw away statements coming from Sherlock can be so charged. One never knows how much he's deduced before you answer. How much must she say?

"I feel different," she says. It's true. She holds his gaze. "And you?"

"Like a fog has lifted."

Now there's a loaded answer. He's been rebuilding his memories and asking his parents and brother to confirm them. He's slowly able to communicate with Eurus through music and had just recently made a breakthrough when she picked up her violin and played counterpoint, however briefly. Many things are becoming clearer to him.

But the one thing that has not been addressed yet, and likely won't be, was the last thing he said to her before she left. What did those words mean in the end, to him?

It tormented her for days on end. It held back her enjoyment of Meena's grand wedding party. It wasn't till day two in Kathmandu, on the second week of her trip, when she was made to realize that in the end, it doesn't matter. What matters is what her love for him means to her.

But she doesn't want to ruin the night with deep conversations about feelings. Especially not with Sherlock.

"Baker Street is coming along well," Molly says to change the subject. "And Rosie. She's crawling!"

"You've gone through the album, I take it?"

"Yes, thank you. It's beautiful… and sweet."

She found a collection of her social media pictures (Facebook, Instagram and Twitter) from her recent trip to India and Nepal in an album that had pictures of Rosie and Sherlock's flat interspersed in each page. There were roughly 22 pages of pictures - one for each day she was away. On the back of the album was an envelope that had a key and an invitation for this Sunday. It was the grand reopening of 221B Baker Street. She was moved to tears at the thoughtful welcome back gift.

"Those pictures were stunning. How did you end up doing a 1.8 kilometer zipline?"

"Ah, well that. Sometimes, you just have to go for it. You know, 'Don't think, just do'. It also helps when you get shamed into doing it."

Molly giggles as she quietly recalls how her serendipitous travel buddy Krysztof cajoled her into taking a trip to Nepal instead of spending all her three weeks in Mumbai.

Sherlock is studying her, she feels it, and it unsettles her. She takes a big bite of her carrot cake, daring him to do the same.

"Hmm. You're eating. What case did you just finish?" She needs him to stop looking at her like that.

"I wasn't on a case." He takes a bite of his dessert without breaking eye contact.

"Oh. And so you were at Bart's for ...personal experiments?"

"Well, yes. You know, while Baker Street is being rebuilt." He's looking shifty. And then it hits her.

"You missed me!" She gives him a wide, knowing smile.

Sherlock turns red. Is he blushing?

"That's ok," she says, saving him. "I missed you, too. But you're buying tonight. This holiday wasn't cheap!"

"I'm rebuilding my home... that was bombed!" He genuinely sounds put out. But then again, he's always been a superb actor.

"Pfft. Shouldn't Mrs. Hudson's insurance cover that? Anyway, your brother should help pay for it." She knows she's won this round. And he knows it too. So he pays and he walks her home. Just like old times.

* * *

The grand re-opening of Baker Street is a small pleasant affair. Molly gives Greg and John big hugs as she walks through the door. Mrs. Hudson is on the floor with Rosie.

"Molly dear!" Mrs. Hudson squeals in delight as she makes a move to get up.

"Oh please Mrs. H don't bother to get up." She kneels down to hug the older lady. While she's at Rosie's level, she gives her godchild a big squeeze.

"I've missed you so much, my darling!" From behind her back, Molly produces an irregularly wrapped present with a long, curled ribbons. Rosie rips the paper to expose a stuffed pink Asian elephant. This will be the first of many, many gifts from that part of the world.

"Oh, that's sweet Aunt Molly," John says as he joins them on the floor. He makes funny elephant noises with the stuffed animal in his hands, barging its trunk on his child's nose. Rosie laughs heartily, with a snorting kind of laugh, and is soon joined by her dad, Greg and Mrs. Hudson.

Molly is overjoyed at this homecoming. She hasn't seen John happy in a very long time. So to come back and hear him laugh is precious. She looks around her to see the love of this little family she's somehow a part of, and the moment brings some tears to hear eyes.

It's then that she notices Sherlock leaning against the kitchen entrance, staring at them too. His eyes finally finds hers and holds her gaze.

A quick image passes her. One much like this moment, but instead it's Sherlock on the floor with her, with their child.

She stiffens for a split second, before realizing that he can't actually read thoughts. It'll take her years to get over this man, she knows this. She just has to live in peace with it till then.

She gives him a warm smile. In return, he goes to help her from the floor and sidles up a little too close to her as she tries to regain her balance. She resists the urge to sniff him. Thankfully, Mrs. Hudson needs some help up, too, so Sherlock, being the gentleman that he is, obliges.

"Molly, sit down here," says Mrs. Hudson. "It's your chair, you know. Sherlock got it for you."

Sherlock rolls his eyes.

"Well, I figured you might as well have a chair too, why not." He is a bit too nonchalant about it.

"Don't I get one?" Greg is teasing of course.

Both Sherlock and John look at him, and point to the client chair.

"You do." They say in unison.

* * *

After Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock finish opening their housewarming gifts, everyone settles back with drinks in hand.

"Show us your pictures!" Greg exclaims. He is quite fond of globetrotting when he can.

Molly brings out the photo album that Sherlock left in her flat as a welcome back present. They are impressed with the pictures.

She's always been fond of taking pictures of little moments and grand vistas. There are few unguarded pictures of her in the album looking absolutely resplendent.

"I obviously didn't take all of those pictures. My friend Kris, who I met at the wedding, takes photos for Unicef and the like. He took those ones with me that aren't selfies."

And just when a quiet settled in the group seated by the couch, Sherlock, who had been lurking by the window with his eyes fixed on Molly, blurts out:

"Oh God. He's in love with you?!"

Everyone's head turn to Sherlock.

"Is that so surprising to you?" Molly tries to suppress the sting and rejection in her voice.

But they all hear it. Suddenly it feels like *that* Baker Street party all over again. John and Mrs. Hudson are giving him the evil eye, and Greg has his eyes fixed firmly on his shoes.

Sherlock, suddenly aware that what he said was not good, tries to open his mouth but nothing comes out. And to think they were in a good place just a few days ago! She can't allow him to make her feel that way.

So she takes a deep breath and was about to tell him it's okay when he says, "No, not really. It's just that he's g-" He stops for a beat and continues. "He can't ...be with you."

John's eyes grow bigger and tries to send mental darts at Sherlock. He somehow can't help but dig his own grave when it comes to Molly.

"So you think he can't be in love with me because he can't be with me?" Molly needs to test his logic because he is not making sense. "That has no bearing on love whatsoever! Just take a look at this room."

Molly continues, and tries, but fails, to keep her voice even.

"Greg here is still in love with his ex-wife, even though he tries so hard to get over her. Mrs. Hudson still carries a torch for Mr. Chattergy, despite his two wives. And John, well... he has Rosie to remind him of his Mary every day."

She looks around the room and they're all silent in acknowledging this amalgamation of cupid's misfires. They are also in awe of Molly for giving the great Sherlock Holmes a lesson in love.

"And then, of course there's the obvious..."

Molly is about to continue when Sherlock speaks up.

"Not what I meant. I mean," he pauses to formulate how to say what he needs to say next. "I can see myself through his lens... I see you like he sees you."

John does a double take and stares at Sherlock, trying to understand what he just said, if he really did just say it.

Mrs. Hudson and Greg meanwhile are slowly understanding what they think he just said and look at each other with a proud smile.

But Molly just blinks and wrinkles her nose. She thinks she finally understands what he's saying, but just can't believe it. Then again, it would make sense.

"Ooooh. Okay. That's quite unexpected… " She nods slowly. "But I can work with that." And then an idea…

"Kris is having some of his work exhibited in two weeks. I think you should come with me."

"Like, as a date?" He eyes her suspiciously.

"Sure. Fine. Whatever."

* * *

 _Author's Note: One more chapter to go! I had to re-imagine and rewrite this chapter because I realized Molly would have begun to 'heal' and start the process of getting over Sherlock after those revelations._

 _One more chapter to go!_


	5. Chapter 5: Out

**Chapter 5: Out**

 _Quick note: There is a paragraph that has disturbing images. Be forewarned._

He picks her up promptly at 7. As usual he is impeccably dressed and wearing her favorite purple shirt. Having learned to avoid little black dresses, she dons a body hugging coral sweater dress, nude tights and boots. Her hair is pinned low with curls cascading down her right shoulder.

"You look...nice."

She snorts at his lame attempt at flattery. She's not sure if he genuinely likes what he sees, or is incredulous that he's out with a walking orange. Whatever it is, she doesn't care. She is determined to enjoy her night.

"Well, you look good enough to eat." She says cheekily as she takes his arm, her coat, and closes the door.

* * *

The exhibit is in a nondescript 5 story building near Kensington Gardens. But once they walked in, they could see how marvelously the curators have re-imagine the space. The lobby was transformed to look like the bottom of a well. The main floor, where guests come in, is lit only by candles on cocktail tables and soft spotlights directed on the few pictures on the walls. As guests look up, they could see the moonlight coming through the glass ceiling enhanced by strings of light cascading down, making it look like raindrops falling into the space. Each floor also gets progressively brighter.

It's breathtaking.

Just then she hears her name.

"Kris!" She hugs him tightly.

"Wow, Molly. You look gorgeous," he says, giving her an appreciative once over. He runs his hand gently on her hair. "I love the look."

"Thank you. And you! You clean up nicely." She gives him a wide grin. She had never seen him wear anything unwrinkled during their trip. (She doesn't really remember him at the wedding. He found her the next day at the hotel.) But that's to be expected when one goes on adventures.

Remembering that she came with a date, Molly turns to Sherlock for a proper introduction.

"Kris this is Sherlock. Sherlock, Krysztof." They shake hands. Sherlock is turning on his charm, she can tell. Kris straightens up and eyes him suspiciously.

"Good to meet you," Kris says. "You're not quite what I expected."

"Oh? How so?"

"I thought you'd be…"

"Taller?"

"Colder."

And with that he turns back to Molly to give her a peck on the lips. "I have to mingle. I'll see you later?"

"Later," she says, looking at him with what could only be described as googly eyes.

Once he's past earshot, Sherlock turns to her having picked up two champagne flutes from the server. He hands her a glass.

"Well, he seems very…"

"Nice?" Molly anticipates. Sherlock is never profuse with compliments.

"Affectionate." He's looking at her fondly even though a part of her would want him to show a hint of jealousy.

"Ah, that. Well, you know…"

"Why did you want to bring me here?" He looks at her with genuine curiosity.

"I wanted you two to meet," she says honestly. "Plus, it's an exhibit about human emotion. I thought maybe it might be… educational?"

Sherlock just squints and purses his lips. Molly decides to let it slide.

"Shall we?" She takes his arm and guides him towards the photos.

These pictures were curated in collaboration with Reuters, Unicef and Instagram. Strange bedfellows sure, but the result is a mix of ordinary and extraordinary moments in life shared in social media. Some of the main floor photos are gut-wrenchingly gruesome: a crime scene in the slums of Manila of a woman cradling her slain boyfriend's body with a sign that says _Drug Pusher_ ; a man and woman in Mosul, holding each other at their child's funeral amidst the rubble around them; an unearthed mass gravesite in Rwanda. There are tissue holders on hand and many of the guests make use them. The bottom floor is apparently a collection of human despair and depravity.

Further along there's a picture of a young woman holding the hand of an older man in the hospital. Molly pauses to inspect it longer. Sherlock observes her, afraid she'll burst into inconsolable sobs. But she doesn't. She maintains her composure, but her eyes are teary.

"She looks peaceful, doesn't she?"

"The inevitability of death. It comes to us all." He responds solemnly. They look at each other and then move on to the next floor in silence.

They are midway through the exhibit when Sherlock stops. It's the picture of Molly looking away from the camera, her hair is up in a messy bun, ringlets of hair framing her face. Her eyes are forlorn but a smile is pasted her lips like it doesn't belong there. Around her is a happy dancing crowd. It's a study in contrast, and her portrait is captivating as it is moving.

"Oh, there it is. It made it in here after all," she says brightly. She tells Sherlock that's how she met Kris. He was a friend of the groom, took this shot, and then had to look for her the next day to ask permission if he could use it for an exhibit. She seems oblivious of the effect of the shot on Sherlock who continues to stare at it. Finally he speaks without turning to her.

"Why do you look so... lost?"

Molly shrugs. She doesn't want to get into an existential discussion with him. What would she tell him? The awkward truth that she was thinking about him? A half-truth about being happy for her friend but sad for herself? He's a detective. It wouldn't be so hard to deduce.

The uncomfortable silence is saved by Kris, who makes another appearance next to them.

"Molly, Sherlock. I'd like to introduce Francois." Kris is beaming. Then she notices they're holding hands. Her face lights up.

"It's a pleasure to meet you. I've heard so much about what you do. It's fascinating," she says as she reaches to shake his hands excitedly.

"He does that," Francois says. "He's a chatterbox."

Francois is a good looking guy who looks lithe and artistic compared to Kris's hardy, athletic build. Where Kris has piercing blue eyes and sandy blond hair, Francois is a fine blend of his French and Vietnamese heritage. And they look divine together.

Kris is explaining the picture of Molly to Sherlock and Francois, how amidst the raucous crowd, his lens found Molly and he started snapping.

"At that moment, I just fell in love with her. She looked like she needed saving. My damsel in distress," Kris says, taking her hand and kissing it.

"You've been true to your word. You've been every bit my fairy godmother," Molly says with a deep love for this man who opened her heart a little bit more, and made things possible.

When Kris came to breakfast the day after Meena's wedding, he immediately spotted Molly in the hotel's restaurant and asked her if he could use her image for an exhibit. He wasn't sure though if it would make the last minute cut. Since that day, he pestered her to go out with him. He regaled her with his worldly adventures and photographs until she relented on her 5th day in Mumbai. He promised to transform her, to get her out of her shroud of death, to be her very own fairy godmother. It was then she guessed he was gay. It was hard to pin down at first since he was Polish living just outside of Chicago. Whatever telltale signs that would have been obvious if they shared a culture was not evident to her at first. Soon she would learn about the love of his life as she slowly opened up about hers. It was nice to have someone to talk to so openly. They were both broken then but decided to make the best of it.

And now?

She hugs him again, clearly happy for him.

"Things seems to be working out for you," she whispers to him as they're wrapped in an embrace.

"For us?"

She shakes her head. "I think I've been barking up the wrong tree."

He pulls back to cup her face. "That's not what I see, sweetie. Have faith this time." With that, he kisses her forehead and calls back to his man who has been in a serious conversation with 'her man', and they saunter off, hand in hand.

Molly and Sherlock walk further along the hall moving to the next level where they see pictures of friendships around the world: two friends exuberantly greeting each other at a market in Marrakesh; boys dragging their toy boats at sunset in Zanzibar; a victory shot at a pickup soccer game just outside of Rome.

As they get to the final level, the soft light of the full moon is unobscured and the mood palpably changes. Whoever designed the lighting is a genius. Because if romantic love is the theme of the top level exhibition, they have clearly achieved it.

On the first few pictures, Sherlock lingers on a picture of two men hiding their joined hands. Molly observes him to gauge his reaction. Could he have been in the closet all this time? Could that be the real reason why he didn't understand what "it" meant? Mrs. Hudson always joked about him and John. But if he sees her like Kris sees her, it makes some sense now…

"So, you knew Kris is gay?" Sherlock says without looking at her.

"Yes."

"But you're in love with him. And he's in love with you." He turns to her, confused.

Molly moves on to the next photo. It's clearly a couple's first date. Sherlock follows when she starts to answer. She formulates her answer in her head because it didn't make sense to her at first. Now, though, it's the most natural thing. How do you explain something you barely understand but know is just what it is?

"As I said before, you can be in love with someone without needing to *be with* them. I guess 'in love' wouldn't be the right term now, but those moments when we were together, he bared his soul to me, and I to him. And I just fell for him.

"When I realized I was in love with a gay man, it was then that I learned that it is possible to be in love with someone and be at peace with never being with them romantically."

She's not sure he can comprehend what she just explained. She barely understands it herself, but there it was anyway.

They move on to the next photo of a young couple about to kiss at the doorstep outside a suburban home. And then to a portrait of a woman in bed with her hair tousled. It was titled "Afterglow".

"Is this what you feel for me?" He asks.

Molly lets out a breath as she examines a photo of a couple swinging their little boy between them. The look of pure joy on their faces bursting out of the frame. How can she answer that?

They reached the end of the exhibit. She guides their way to the outdoor balcony and the chill of the night hits her. Sherlock removes his jacket and helps her into it.

"It's not a secret Sherlock. You wrestled it out of me, remember?"

"Yes. But do you not think I'm capable of being with you?"

Molly's head snaps up as she tries to bore a hole into his soul. Can it be? She wants to hear him say it.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm in love with you, Molly Hooper. And I'm incapable of being without you."

It's a shock to her system.

"You're not … gay or asexual?" It now sounds ludicrous to voice it out like that.

Sherlock scrunches his eyes in confusion, shakes his head as he tousles his hair in frustration.

"Oh for goodness sakes, woman..."

He takes her face and plants his lips firmly onto hers. She's taken aback by the force of his determination to kiss her, but his mouth tastes divine as she feels his tongue part her lips. Before she knows it, her hand snakes up to cradle his face as she deepens the kiss and forgets to care about propriety.

When they both come up for air, she notices Kris and Francois in the corner of her eye. They're both smiling at them. Suddenly self-conscious she buries her face in Sherlock's chest as he wraps his arms around her and kisses the top of her head. Then they start giggling uncontrollably.

"Did you bring me here to set me up with your friend?" He says with his mouth still pressed on the top of her head. She nods, and they start another round of hysterical laughter. _Good God, Molly Hooper,_ she thinks. She has never been so glad to be so very wrong _._

Once they compose themselves, her friends walk up to them with a knowing look. She then notices Kris's Nikon in his hand. He raises his eyebrow, as if asking if he can interrupt them for a bit.

"I think I may have another addition to the exhibit," Kris tells them. He shows the photo he just took. "May I?"

It was a private affair and ordinarily she would have wanted to keep that moment to herself. But the composition was sublime: a silhouette of two bodies coming together for the first time, under a full moon, unaware of the world around them. It was the epitome of romance.

They all look to Sherlock for an answer. He's the one with the most to lose. It's bad enough getting caught in a deerstalker and forever be the _Hat Detective._ It's another thing to have your vulnerability displayed for the world to see.

He considers the ask carefully. You really can't make out the faces. But still…

He shakes his head.

"Be part of the _Well of Sentiment_ exhibit? I think not. I've a reputation to protect." He smiles mischievously, as he tightens his grip on her shoulders. "But I would love to have a copy of that before you permanently delete it. Do you mind?"

"Not at all, dahling. Not at all."

Kris takes his camera and his phone, adjusts settings and soon they hear the ping of a message received on her phone.

When they open it, they see it captioned _Out of the Closet Romantic_.

Molly grins.

Well, it took them long enough to see the light.

The End.

* * *

 _Author's Note: Thank you for completing it! I appreciate reviews._

 _In case you're wondering, Sherlock already knew that Kris was gay because the pictures of Molly he used in the album he gave her were taken from his social media accounts where he tagged Molly. Naturally, he wanted to check to make sure Molly was safe, so he did a background check._

 _I also think that Sherlock is a romantic, much like his brother Mycroft._


End file.
